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In the high-stakes world of international finance, Adrian was used to men blinking first. He assumed Nico Bellante’s reputation was mostly theater—a myth cultivated to keep the board members of Bellante Global compliant. He maintained his polished, aristocratic smile, though his fingers tightened imperceptibly around Maribel’s wrist. / Chapter 4 / 6

Chapter 4 - The Traitor’s Price

The safe house at the Boston harbor was a fortified penthouse apartment disguised as a shipping crane control tower. Outside, the rain had turned into a torrential downpour, waves crashing violently against the concrete piers below.

Inside, the lights were low. Maribel sat at a stainless steel table, now wearing a pair of Nico’s oversized black sweatpants and a dark t-shirt, her red silk dress hung over a chair like a bloody flag. Nico stood by the window, a burner phone in his hand, listening to a report from his legal team.

"Vance didn't get the ledger yet," Nico said, hanging up the phone and turning to Maribel. "The FBI raid on the warehouse was tipped off by an anonymous source, but they found nothing. Gianni is playing with us. He’s showing us he can move the feds like chess pieces."

"He’s establishing dominance," Maribel said, her laptop open in front of her again. She had bypassed the security protocols of the Boston port authority, tracking every vessel that had cleared customs in the last four hours. "Gianni didn't come to America by commercial air. He arrived on a private cargo ship registered to a shell company called Aethelgard Logistics."

Nico’s eyes narrowed. "That’s a British registration."

"Exactly," Maribel said, her fingers freezing over the keyboard. "Adrian Vale. The investor from the gala tonight. His family owns Aethelgard Logistics."

The pieces fell into place with a sickening thud. The insult at the gala wasn't an accident. Adrian wasn't just a arrogant British aristocrat hitting on the secretary; he was a distraction. He was keeping Nico and Maribel occupied while Gianni’s team used Nico’s cloned biometrics to open Vault Two.

"Adrian didn't leave the country," Nico said, his voice deathly quiet. "He’s still here."

"He’s at the harbor," Maribel said, pointing at the screen. "Pier 42. The cargo ship The Obsidian Star is scheduled to depart for Palermo at 4:00 AM. That’s in exactly two hours."

Nico walked over to the weapon rack on the wall, selecting a customized lightweight assault rifle and checking the magazine. "Marco and six men are already on their way to the pier. We’re going to take that ship before it hits international waters."

"Nico, wait," Maribel said, standing up and grabbing his arm. "Look at the manifest for The Obsidian Star. It’s carrying three hundred tons of liquid industrial chemicals. If you launch a traditional assault on that ship with automatic weapons, one stray bullet into the pressurized tanks will detonate the entire pier. It’ll kill everyone within a half-mile radius, including us."

Nico stopped, looking down at her hand on his arm. "Then how do we get the ledger back?"

"We don't attack the ship from the outside," Maribel said, her eyes flashing with a dangerous intelligence. "We use a Trojan horse. Gianni wants me. Adrian wants revenge for what you did to him at the gala. I walk onto that ship alone. I offer myself in exchange for the ledger."

"Absolutely not," Nico roared, his composure finally shattering. He slammed his weapon onto the table, his face inches from hers. "I am not using you as bait, Maribel. Do you understand me? I don't care about the ledger. I don't care about the empire. I am not letting him touch you again."

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The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure terminal on my desk flashed a violent crimson. I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my eyes burning from staring at columns of ghost figures, duplicate invoices, and shell corporations linked to Dominic Rossi. But the red alert wasn’t from Rossi’s faction. It was an internal security flag originating from the estate’s main vault deep beneath the west wing.

The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure ter...

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scattering the light from the chandeliers. The muffled laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence that crept outward from the grand staircase.

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scatter...

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking out the clinical, terrifying silence of the kitchen. Evelyn Crane stood stiffly in front of my mahogany desk, her hands folded over her apron with the rigid precision of someone who had spent decades micromanaging every square inch of my estate. Behind her, Norah hovered near the doorway, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking...

Maribel looked at him, her heart hammering against her ribs, not from fear of Gianni, but from the raw, unadulterated intensity in Nico’s eyes. For three years, they had played a game of professional distance, but the red dress had shattered the illusion, and the crisis had stripped away the lies.

"You aren't listening to the whole plan, Nico," Maribel whispered, her hand sliding up his chest to touch his jaw. "I said I walk onto the ship alone. I didn't say I stay alone."

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